


The Respawn Effect

by Dusk_Till_Dawn



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, George & Dream centric but I'm a slut for character development, George and Dream are idiots, I just like their friendship, I'm bad at tagging sorry, M/M, Niki and Wilbur are just nice people, Niki is trying her best, Poor Sapnap, Probably gonna add more characters later, Slow Burn, So that means you're gonna get other characters too, Techno is murder and 15 cups of black coffee, There will be a happy ending, Tubbo & Tommy are beans, Zak and Bad can be read platonically or romantically tbh, but there will be a lot of suffering before that, pls read author's notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:50:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26810149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusk_Till_Dawn/pseuds/Dusk_Till_Dawn
Summary: The cover they had found was only temporary, laughably flimsy. Dream's mask was split down the middle, and his left arm was bleeding. The netherite sword had ripped right through his hoodie."Don't worry about it George," Dream gave his friend a little smile before turning to peer around the rock formation. "Seven is a lucky number." It was a dying man's words. Dream had always been better at fighting than he had. George choked down a sob, forcing his voice to steady itself."I made a promise to you," he was breaking down. "I made a promise to you, so I want you to promise me something now." Dream ducked back behind the rock as an arrow whizzed past where his head used to be. He nocked his own arrow. "I want you to promise that you won't forget." George kept his eyes trained on the ground. It was unfair, they both knew it."I promise you, George," Dream said it so softly George would've missed it if adrenaline wasn't enhancing every single one of his senses, kicking him into overdrive. He glanced up quickly and felt the wind leave his lungs. There was so much there, in the single look they traded. Then Dream was gone. George heard iron meet netherite. Without looking back, he turned tail and ran.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Niki | Nihachu/Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch
Comments: 7
Kudos: 85





	1. So it Begins

**Author's Note:**

> Don't ship real people. The main reason why I made this was because I had some cool ideas about worldbuilding using Minecraft lore. Don't ship real people, don't bother the creators. We're better than that y'all.

The rain was pouring down now. Niki watched a fat drop coalesce on the windowpane and promptly named it Willy. Willy’s rival Rick had gotten a head start, but it didn’t take Willy long to catch up. She cheered quietly to herself when Willy collided with the windowsill milliseconds before his opponent. Smiling softly she turned back towards the comforting light of the lamp. Wilbur had taken one look at the sky that morning and gone rummaging through their chests to craft no less than five of the quaint light sources. He usually had an uncanny sense for this sort of thing, it was to her benefit at least. She had yet to be surprised by the weather since Wilbur had come to stay with her. _I’m staring,_ she noted dimly. He had ditched his beanie in favor of thoroughly messing up his hair. She couldn’t blame him too much, enchantment runes weren’t easy to learn. She was usually the one to handle enchantments for them, her father had been a librarian and the runes came as second nature now. Wilbur had insisted on learning them as well though, and on quieter days he was here, sat at their table tugging his hairs out. _This is nice,_ she decided, and yet, something didn’t feel right. She turned back around to the window. The rain gave her no answers, in the distance thunder rumbled. She must have missed the lightning.

“Wilbur,” she murmured. The craftsman raised his head from the runes. The lamplight turned his eyes gold. He had clearly picked up on her worry.

“What’s up Niki? Everything okay?” She shook her head slightly, the feeling was starting to settle like a stone in her stomach. Wilbur didn’t ask any questions, her gut was never wrong, they had both learned that the hard way. “Let’s double-check the house.” He stood and offered her a crooked smile. _Yeah, okay,_ she gave him a small smile back. _Maybe it’s no big deal?_

* * *

Technoblade was like 80% sure that his right leg had broken in the fall. But if he was being honest that was somehow the least of his worries. He had been too cocky. Sure this was his nineteenth attempt but all it took was one miss. One miss and he had been forced to tower up to the goddamn crystal. He knew they exploded, it had been one of his more unfortunate demises on his...twelfth run maybe? Twelve sounded about right. (he had only ever gotten snippets of memories) What he hadn’t expected was the apparent and sudden ability of Hunters to _fucking fly_. The guy must’ve gotten an ender pearl or something. He had caught the flash of green and beige, blond hair tickling his nose before the Hunter plunged his sword through Techno’s chest and pushed him back with a sickening _schliiiick_ noise. He had fumbled for his water bucket sure, but coordination was a little difficult when bleeding out and in freefall. So that led to now, the wind knocked out of him, right leg probably broken, choking up blood. he hadn't died from the fall, surprisingly.

“Technoblade never dies.” He wheezed out to himself, smiling a bit at the irony. Philza looked down at him from his cobblestone perch and Techno grinned bloodily. He wouldn’t be able to make it, had experienced the speed of the Hunters before, but he reached for a golden apple anyway. The bite of netherite met his neck, _at least I got to die to him_. Maybe it was poetic, but Techno had never paid much attention to poetry anyway.

* * *

_He should probably be prouder of himself_. Sapnap stared at the inside of his forearm. Past Sapnap was clearly trying to tell current Sapnap something. He just wasn’t sure what. Burn scars, tally marks placed deliberately on his skin, the lines counted up to nineteen. The nineteenth time he had forgotten maybe? Either that or he was reading too far into it and past him had just really wanted a tattoo. He sat up from the bed he had ~~stolen~~ borrowed and started collecting his things. He never stayed in one place long, the restlessness seemed to follow him. He had tried to stay still, spent four months in a village trying to build himself a new life. It didn’t work out, no matter how hard he tried he just felt different from the others. Something thrummed under his skin, it didn’t let him rest, it didn’t let him stop. He had barely needed sleep, maybe two to three hours. He was much faster than anyone else, more agile, with quicker reflexes and keener vision. He was inhuman. The breaking point had been the pillager attack. Sapnap had killed all of them and felt absolutely nothing. He'd watched the woman who cared for him bleed out, speared by a ravager. The villagers had given him a lovely diamond axe, he had used it to kill her. _To put_ _her out of her misery,_ but some part of him had liked the blood. He didn’t like that part of him. He glanced at his forearm again, still nineteen tallies. If it really was the number of times he’d forgotten he probably had some fucking issues. _No matter,_ his legs itched to be running. He’d already wasted too much time there. His answers were somewhere else.

* * *

He was being watched, it didn’t take a genius to recognize which sounds were forest sounds, and which were decidedly not. Sneakers on tree bark effectively ticked off the box of ‘Not Forest Sounds’, and George was no stranger to survival. _That’s what muscle memory told him anyway._ It was definitely a person, or he’d wandered across some rare tree-climbing zombie with a penchant for stealing shoes. He bit back the urge to grab his sword and demand the trespasser “reveal thyself!” or something equally corny. If he did that they’d just hide better next time. It was better to remain vigilant, he had more skill with a sword than most dirt-road-robbers. Switching out his sword for an axe he tried to look busy with the large oak in front of him. He had been traveling for three days now almost nonstop. A kind Cleric had found him passed out on the ground, devoid of all possessions save the clothes on his back. George had woken up confused and an amnesiac, he supposed he could add that to the list: left-handed, colorblind, amnesiac. So started his grand quest TO FIND HIS MEMORIES. All caps, confetti, generic announcer voice, maybe some trumpets just to be safe. In all honesty, he had no idea what he was supposed to be doing, his bright idea had been to keep going until something triggered. _Probably not the best plan,_ he admitted, _especially considering you’re now being followed._ He paused the swing of his axe, the rustle of branches told him they had fallen for it. Although, to their credit, whoever it was had stopped moving immediately after. There was nothing now that George had stopped his motion. Wiping the sweat off his brow, George slid his goggles down over his eyes and resumed chopping down the tree. He couldn’t hear the rustling anymore, but if he was correct about their location then their path would probably be... A rush of air tickled the hairs on his arm. They had dropped down. What an idiot. In a single fluid movement, George turned towards the thief, switching his axe for a sword mid arc. It was good to know he hadn’t forgotten how to protect himself at least.

* * *

_Unlucky,_ his brain supplied at the sensation of a sharp edge being pressed into his jugular. _Well, at least this boy is pretty_ ** _and_ **_good with a sword_. Dream was one-hundred percent ready to laugh at his own little joke, but the blade to his neck dissuaded him just a bit. He was pleasantly surprised though. This guy clearly knew his way around a sword. That would make this a lot more fun. He was glad the mask hid his face, if the brunet had seen the bloodlust on his face, his head would definitely be gone by now. He had been cocky, and he was willing to admit that, but he wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

“You’ve been following me,” Dream felt the blade dig further into his neck and the telltale trickle of blood. That wasn’t what caught his attention though. The wielder had a surprisingly pleasant voice, something about the way he pronounced his words. “I’ll let you live if you promise to leave me alone.” Dream let himself smirk behind his mask. Proud words, this kid had no idea what he was getting himself into. Then again, for all he knew he had the advantage. He really would be fun to mess with, although that meant he’d have to stay alive for now. Dream waited, the silence stretched on, the brunet was growing impatient.

“Answer m-” That’s what Dream had been waiting for. _It was probably inhuman_ he mused. Being able to see exactly when someone blinked, when the grip tensed just a bit too much on the handle. He kicked out, sweeping the legs out from under his opponent. The sword sliced a shallow cut from his adam's apple to his collarbone as it’s wielder lost his balance. But it was nothing a little food and rest wouldn’t fix. He’d retreat for now, learn more about this boy. The official term was probably stalking, but Dream was a sucker for pretty faces. Besides, this could be fun. _Fun felt like a long way off. Sometimes he swore his emotions were buried under a viscous sludge._ Well, he'd certainly be keeping an eye on this one at any rate. Inclining his head slightly towards the person he’d just upended, Dream flipped himself back up to the treetops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is definitely going to be quite a few chapters. I'm guessing maybe 9 or 10. Honestly, we'll have to see. This first chapter is really just introductions and set-up to the characters you'll be seeing first. The other characters come a bit further into the plot. That being said, the next chapter will probably only be George and Dream, since it is centered around them, and I need character development. I already have a plot laid out, but I might add more characters in as I progress. That's about all, I don't really have a solid upload schedule but I'll try for weekly. Please let me know if you like it, it's always nice to have support.


	2. We Have to Start Somewhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 is out. I have more motivation to write than I thought I would. Probably because I have so many lore ideas running around in my head. Anyway, see you at the end of the chapter.

George did not like his new travel buddy. That being said, travel buddy was definitely the incorrect term for whatever the fuck it was they were doing. The masked man hadn’t been openly hostile... _yet_. He’d backed off in the forest and then proceeded to follow the brunet for god knows how long. In the first few weeks, George had tried _everything_ to shake the guy off his tail. When that clearly hadn’t worked, George had attempted diplomacy. Diplomacy meant George got two bits of information. One, that the blond’s name was Dream. Two, that Dream _was_ in fact a he and was not going to leave George alone. George had asked why and Dream had just shrugged, his emotions hidden by a comically simple smiley face. So now George was here with a guy who could very well just be marinating George for murder and absolutely no solid plan. Unfortunately, he couldn’t think of anything else he could do besides continuing his blind stumble. He had no leads. George didn’t even bother to hide his frustrated groan. Beside him, a masked head tilted, skewing the smiley face to the side.

“What are you looking at?” The brunet scowled. Dream’s mask continued to stare at him, the owner lost in thought. George stopped in his tracks to glare back. He was getting irrationally angry, some part of him knew that. He was just so tired, he’d given himself what seemed like an insurmountable task, and now there was some creepo just sitting here staring at him. “Answer me!” He unsheathed his sword, bumping Dream’s chest with the hilt to push him back. Dream barely even stumbled, stepping back to keep his balance, and raised his axe. George didn’t think he’d ever seen the blond let go of it. The axe had to be heavy, but Dream used it one-handed. Iron sang out across the plains as George blocked with the flat of his blade, shouldering the weight of the axe with his forearm. That proved to be a mistake, it only took him a few seconds to realize that Dream was _a lot stronger_ than he was. Disengaging he backed off, both circled each other warily. _I can’t brute strength this,_ Dream got impatient, swinging again, this time George dodged. _I have to beat him at speed,_ axes left large openings. They did more damage, commanded more strength, but they were slow, more unwieldy. George stepped forward, muscle memory commanding a fluidity he couldn’t quite remember. Aiming low he managed to tear through the jean on Dream’s right leg. Dream’s backswing forced him to back up, but already blood was welling up from the fresh wound. George let himself feel a bit of satisfaction at that. It was short-lived as Dream charged right at him. George barely managed to deflect, stumbling from the weight of the blow. The blond swung again and George twisted himself out of the way, using his momentum to land another blow on Dream’s outstretched arm. Dream spun to face him, almost catching George in the face with the handle. Startled, the brunet reacted too slowly on the next strike. It landed heavily, digging into his side and leaving a deep gash. Hissing in pain, George backed up even further. His right hand moved to press gingerly at the new wound. That was gonna leave a mark. The adrenaline was in full force now, sensing an opening Dream had made the first move. George pivoted, feeling the axe cut down centimeters from his face. In desperation, he stabbed blindly forward. The iron was met with resistance and he shoved, plunging the blade in even further. He heard Dream grunt in pain and then he was being thrown back. Somehow, he had managed to keep his grip on his sword but he was too disoriented to make any sort of evasive maneuvers. He raised his sword weakly in front of him as a sudden weight pinned him down. George felt more than saw, the bloody axe press into his neck. Ironically he felt better; and suddenly Dream was laughing, a full-blown wheeze. It was as if his lungs were collapsing, and for all George knew, maybe they were.

“Hi Georgeeee,” the blond practically giggled his name, drawn-out between his tea kettle wheezes. _Dream had a nice voice,_ George was pretty sure he was on the edge of hysterics now. Maybe a bit of blood loss. _Maybe a lot of blood loss,_ his side complained.

“I think you might be more than a little insane.” Dream shrugged, standing up and offering George a hand.

“Probably. If you were any less interesting I would’ve killed you already.” George blinked slowly at him.

“You’re joking right?” Dream’s mask revealed none of its owner’s secrets, cautiously he reached out and let Dream haul him to his feet.

“Sure.” The blond seemed way too steady for someone who had just gotten stabbed in the gut and was bleeding profusely from more than one wound. George was already feeling dizzy, and he didn’t really want to look at his side. “You should eat.” No response. Well, if Dream was just gonna stand around like a bloodstained maniac George wasn’t going to stop him. He was a little less creepy now that he had talked, but still unnerving. Unpacking some chicken, George munched on it, keeping a careful eye on Dream.

“So why speak to me now?” He asked between mouthfuls. The blond had plopped down on the long grass and started cleaning his axe. _Figures he’d go for weapon maintenance first._

“It was funnier,” George could hear the mirth in the masked man’s voice. “It was _so_ easy to freak you out, and the no talking definitely helped.” Pouting, George stood. He could feel the effects of the food kicking in, his side felt better already.

“So you followed me for almost a month just because you liked fucking with me.” George shouldered his bag and examined the damage on his shirt.

“What can I say,” the blond shrugged, “I was lonely.” He stood as well now, swinging his now clean axe over his shoulder in a practiced motion. George stared, _this guy was absolutely mental._ “Take a picture, it'll last longer.” He sounded smug.

“I’m not staring cause you’re attractive you twit. I’m staring because you’re probably mentally fucked, and you are bleeding in three separate places.” _Was it still too late to ditch this guy???_ Dream wheezed and pulled out a loaf of bread before proceeding to absolutely inhale the food. _Yeah, it probably was._

“Try to outrun me, I dare you.” George was willing to bet a stack of emeralds that the blond was smirking. He scowled in response.

“I did remember? You just caught up. Every time I thought I’d lost you I’d just turn around and _bam._ There you were.” Another snicker, already the blond looked to be in better shape, although his clothes told another story. George’s head felt a lot clearer now. “That aside, we should try to find a village, I need a compass and a cartographer.”

 _“We?”_ The tone was teasing. George rolled his eyes.

“Yes we, I’m assuming you’re coming along. We’ve already established you have no problem following me.”

“How do you know I _want to_ now?”

“You act as though it’d be some great loss on my end to part with a psychopath.” Dream went silent, the pause stretched out just a beat too long before he spoke again.

“Don’t be like that, I haven’t had this much fun in a while.” He whined, leaning closer to George. _I was probably too harsh with that last comment,_ the brunet sighed placing a hand on Dream’s mask and pushing his face away.

“We can spar if you behave?” He tried. Dream nodded enthusiastically and held out a hand.

“Deal.”

* * *

_The noise is riotous, an overlay of constant sound that offends the ear. It’s enough to drive anyone mad, like static and gravel. A stage was set. What for? It’s too dark to make anything out. The sound of blades clashing rings sweetly, a pure and singing sound against the horrific backdrop of noise._

“Hm, and here I thought he’d be the one to win.”

“Don’t be so judgemental, you couldn’t beat it on your own either.”

_The fight drags on, blurry images are slowly starting to become clearer. It is a dance. The swords are the melody, the footwork a beat. There is purple and black, yellow and grey. One has a red tie, his opponent has pink hair. They are color in a dull space. Even the blood is purple here._

“A new Prince has been crowned.”

“That'll be a tough hurdle to clear.”

* * *

Niki is forgetting something. She’s halfway through the dishes, Wilbur is feeding the animals, and she’s forgetting something. _I need to get into the habit of writing things down._ Frowning slightly, she continues, the chore is mindless. Wilbur arrives as she dries her hands. Tommy is with him, he meows at her and she’s already scooped him up for a hug. Wilbur had picked the name, said it was after an old friend.

“Will, I didn’t happen to tell you what I needed to do today did I?” Wilbur shakes his head and reaches over to give Tommy head scritches. 

“The only thing I recall is about walking Tubbo, he’s been cooped up since the storm.” _Well, it was worth a shot,_ she wasn’t expecting that to have worked anyway. “Why do you ask?” Wilbur is always honest...until he isn’t. He isn’t honest now, shoulders weighted down by something he will never tell her.

“Just felt like I was forgetting something.” She smiles and gives him a peck on the cheek. “I’ll go walk Tubbo now okay? Don’t worry too much.” He straightens, looking sheepish. It’s okay, he doesn’t have to tell her. He’s a hopeless romantic, heart-on-his-sleeve. He can keep a few more secrets, she has her own. 

Tubbo is waiting outside for her, he’s always been such a good boy. At her signal he jumps up, tongue lolling out happily as he follows her through the field of flowers that surrounds their home. He never strays too far, a beautiful chocolate lab. There are all sorts of colors here, Niki loves the flowers, probably loves them too much in all honesty. It’s a lovely day and Tubbo is pissing on a tree a few paces away. It’s a lovely day and if Wilbur’s eyes are darker than normal she won’t comment on it. It’s a lovely day and if she has a strange fascination with the pink flowers...well, that’s nothing but a coincidence.

* * *

Well, he felt numb but this was probably overkill. Turns out, people really don’t like it when you loot their shit. He’d just needed food, then again the polite thing to do was probably to stop and ask. He was really autopiloting too much, everything felt too disjointed, too unconnected. _He was doing it again,_ it wasn’t like the flaming arrow hurt that much anyway. Having got what he came for, the black-haired man fled into the night. They’d gotten lucky with that first hit, he had been distracted. If they followed him, the taiga would be in possession of several more corpses. There would be no one left to burn their remains, _how sad._ How superstitious; bodies left to the night always rose, shuffling and rotting, staring with undead eyes. _Vindictive souls, the souls of those given improper passage; abandoned and left to rot._ What a joke, Sapnap had seen these monsters first hand. Stared into their decayed eyes. These husks had no soul, he saw the same look in his own eyes every day. 

_Nineteen times._

“Twenty’s the charm,” he says aloud. His breath exhales in a puff of white. He feels numb now, but he couldn’t be like this forever, right? He shouldn’t have robbed that village. Maybe a cleric could’ve helped him. Too late now. 

_There is always a sound that will inexplicably make his blood run cold._

Sapnap turns too fast and almost loses his footing. The Enderman stands, quiet and calculating. Its eyes curl with magic-tinged-purple, Sapnap shouldn’t be staring...but the Enderman doesn’t attack. It regards him, almost respectfully, and then it’s gone. Mysterious magic fizzles off onto the ground where it once stood. Whatever he’s become, the Enderman approves, and that’s enough to send Sapnap running once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I'll try to update this weekly at least. We're just starting out, still laying a bit of groundwork off of introductions, although this section definitely has more to it, and several lore hints as well. Anyway, character perspectives will probably change depending on what I need from that particular chapter. So don't worry if someone disappears for a chapter. They'll be back eventually! (Also don't forget to leave comments and kudos. It validates my 2am gremlin and coffee brain)


	3. The Duality of Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, remember when I said weekly updates and then dropped off the face of the earth? Yeah, sorry about that. This one kinda got away from me not gonna lie. Before I knew it we were over 7,000 words and I just...AAAAAHH. Anyway, it's here now, sorry for the wait.

George likes snow, he doesn’t think he loves it, but mountains are better than the sweltering heat of the desert. Besides, it’s a lot calmer here, _at least when you aren’t getting shot at._ Dream doesn’t seem to agree, he’s a sucker for heat, despite parading around in a hoodie. George still needs to get used to the fact that Dream _talks now._ The blond has easily made the switch from complete silence to a steady stream of noise. Sometimes it’s humming, sometimes it’s just random information, chatter. Some of it George knows, _it annoys him endlessly that he doesn’t remember_ ** _how_ **_he knows._ Some of it is news. It’s only mildly worrying that Dream has a step-by-step process for taking down iron golems. It reeks of immoral tendencies, a lot of Villages rely on the enchanted iron hunks to keep them safe, but this is Dream, and George still isn’t completely convinced that Dream won’t just kill him should the urge strike. The fear has lessened marginally as the days pass; but if he wastes a bit more material on making a separate shelter for nighttime, if he sleeps with his sword and takes night watches that are just a bit too long. Well, that’s no one's business but his own. 

At the moment Dream is humming another tune, George is pretty sure it’s _Far_. It really has no business being as calming as it is, but Dream has a nice voice, not that George will ever say _that_ aloud. It’s only mildly infuriating that the blond has not shown a single sign of physical strain either. George had suggested they scale the mountain for a better vantage point, he’s only vaguely regretting it now as his legs and arms have gone a little numb from the climb, but his lungs _ache,_ especially as they suck in the frigid winter air. Dream meanwhile, has added in some tongue clicks to the melody for emphasis as he scales the rocky face, digging pale fingertips into obscure edges as his beat of _Far_ stays steadier than George’s heart. It’s probably time to face the music, he’s definitely less fit than yellow _(green?)_ sweatshirt McGee over there. Dream’s probably wrestled a polar bear or something and won.

“How-” George pauses and stares up at the blond, who is offering a hand up from his vantage point at the summit. “How are you not even slightly out of breath?” He takes the offered hand because at this point he just wants up the damned mountain. The blond shrugs, but he sounds amused when he answers,

“I move around a lot, I’ve done a lot of traveling, and some monsters aren’t exactly pushovers.” George feels his eyebrows furrow a little at that. Dream yanks him up, and George stumbles to the top.

“You travel at night? Why?” It’s impractical, everyone knows that. A lot of unsavory things are active at night. Fortunately, most are rather mindless, it’s easy enough to pass them by as long as you build even a makeshift shelter. Dream is silent for a moment,

“For the thrill of it, I guess,” George shakes his head and moves away from the edge.

“I think that’s called being an ‘adrenaline junkie’ Dream. It’s also just a very, very, easy way to die.” Dream wheezes,

“Well, I haven’t died yet,” he tilts his head cockily as if daring George to challenge him. The brunet raises an eyebrow, smirks, and shoves Dream lightly. Just enough to send him tipping dangerously towards the steep edge. The blond shrieks and grabs onto the brunet’s jacket sleeve, _there was no way George was going to trek through the mountains without at least one extra layer._ George can’t stop the smug smile that spreads across his face.

“Please, do continue,” he comments dryly, unhooking Dream’s fingers from his person. Dream relinquishes his hold and crosses his arms petulantly.

“That was mean,” he whines to George, sounding suspiciously like a five-year-old. George doesn’t even bother to suppress the eye roll, he’s pretty sure Dream can see it through his goggles anyway.

“Okay Dreamy-weamy,” George pitches his voice up into baby speak range. “Can you tell Georgie where the village is?” The blond goes dead silent. He stands, facing George for a good seven seconds before-

“ _WHAT?”_ Dream sputters out, in a noise somewhere between disgusted, amused, and incredulous. A deep breath, then again, “ _WHAAAAT?”_ George devolves into laughter, he pushes up his goggles to wipe futilely at the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “I should ditch you,” there’s no heat behind the words.

“ _Please do,”_ George manages to force out between giggles. “I’ll be freeeee.” Dream shakes his head and waits for George to collect himself. “But in all seriousness, how _are_ you not dead yet?” A couple of monsters are easy enough to handle, but when they come at you in mobs well. That’s when a simple zombie becomes a death sentence. The darkness of night has proven time and time again to be the sanctuary of unsettled flesh and bone. Besides zombies and skeletons, there are always creepers, cave spiders, and endermen, to name a few. The latter is particularly brutal and extremely mysterious. Dream shrugs, interrupting George’s thoughts.

“I’m just really strong, physically I mean. I’m not particularly sure why. The last village I went to kicked me out cause I broke someone’s arm sparring.” He pauses and tags on a “not to brag or anything,” at the end for good measure. It has a distinctly smug tone which does nothing to convince the brunet, but he takes it at face value anyway.

“Oh wow, getting some Dream lore here,” George says jokingly. “Careful, or you might let slip your whole origin story.” _Although he can’t deny he’s just a little curious._

“I was born in a village, the end.” Dream deadpans.

“Riveting,” taking the hint to drop the topic, George starts scanning their surroundings. Wood paneling catches his eye in the east. Rooftops peeking out over the treeline. They’re easily a couple of hours out, and that’s not counting how long it’ll take them to pick their way back down the mountain. “What time is it?” He asks Dream, who has apparently decided that _Wait (where are we now)_ is more suited to the atmosphere as the humming is back full force.

“Around two in the afternoon,” says the blond, head tilted up to watch the sun cross the sky. 

“We should have enough time then if we hurry.” 

“Where are you trying to go anyway?” Dream asks, he’s already skidding down the east side, voice getting further by the second.

“Not sure,” George follows, avoiding the blond’s path.

“Why do you need a map and a compass then?” Dream pauses at an outcropping, hands in his pockets.

“To find somewhere to go.” Dream leaves it at that, something that George is grateful for. The masked man continues his skid down the mountain, _Wait (where are we now)_ faintly reaching George’s ears as he chooses a more careful route. _Something about this seems familiar..._ but by the time George reaches Dream on grassy ground, the sensation has faded.

* * *

They make it to the village at “about six” according to Dream. The blond claims he also has business to take care of, so they agree to meet back up in the main square when they’re finished. George makes Dream promise not to kill the iron golem before he goes. It’s the bare minimum really, but enough to put his mind at ease. It doesn’t take him long to make a deal with a cartographer, it _does_ take him all his emeralds. Lucky him, he had just enough. George spends a bit more time in the shop just looking over the other maps. He won’t be able to buy them, but he’s got one of the immediate area, and a compass to navigate. It can’t hurt to examine the other maps and see if any of the areas further out jog his memory. _They don’t._ A fruitless hour passes, feeling the frustration build, George decides to call it quits. He leaves the shop and is met with the sight of Dream standing at the edge of the village square, a pile of sticks at his feet, a large purse of emeralds in his hand. He waves enthusiastically at George as the fletcher beside him starts to gather up the stick bundles. George makes his way over warily.

“Should I be worried?” Dream scoffs.

“No, this is fair and honest trade George,” the brunet makes a face.

“You’re all sweaty.”

“No shit. Where else do you think I got all these sticks? Just pulled them from up my ass?” Dream takes George’s hand and dumps out a few emeralds into the brunet’s palm. “I’ll jump into a river later or something, it’s gonna be night soon.”

“Gross,” George shakes his head but accepts the emeralds. “I’m holding you to that.” Smaller villages like this don’t usually have inns, instead, churches and temples provide a roof. It’s not nearly as nice, but it’s free and better than sleeping out in the open. The duo makes their way over to the stone building. A middle-aged woman stands out front, she looks kind, a little heavyset, with crow’s feet and smile lines etched into her face. She has on a cleric’s robes, but the trim tells George she’s just an apprentice, _why does he know that?_

“How can I help you boys?” She asks, folding her hands politely in front of her. 

“We’re travelers,” supplies Dream “just looking to stay the night is all, we’ll be out of your hair by tomorrow.”

“I should have guessed,” she eyes their packs and opens the door, ushering them in. “You can sleep anywhere on the floor, we may request your help in closing up for the night.” George nods, it seems like a fair trade. The woman steps back out, leaving the two to their own devices. George picks a corner, and is a bit unsettled when he realizes he’ll have to remain in close quarters with Dream while sleeping. _If he really wanted you dead he would’ve killed you already._ He reminds himself, and his nerves steady a bit. There’s just something about Dream that reminds George too much of a hunter stalking their prey, a thinly veiled bloodlust. _Something_ _inhuman._ George shakes his head, trying to cut off his train of thought. It’s not his place to psychoanalyze Dream. It doesn’t take them long to set up their sleeping bags, but in the safety of a solid structure, and not some precarious wooden contraption. They decide to sort through their belongings, and properly split food and water. Not soon after George has shoved the last water bottle into the recesses of his bag, the woman comes back inside. Bolting the large double-doors behind her, she moves further into the building. George watches curiously, but without comment. In time she comes back with an elderly man. Not so old that he looks decrepit, but his hair is salt and pepper, and his left eye is milky. When he speaks it sounds like rustling parchment.

“Since you boys are staying the night, you wouldn’t mind helping an old man with some tasks would you?” George shakes his head, and can only assume Dream has done the same as the old man breaks into a warm grin. “Wonderful. You two are travelers yes? Do you know your way around brewing stands?” George nods, it’s always safer to stay quiet, less chance you offend someone that way. “Wonderful, then I’ll let you tidy them up,” his gaze slides over to Dream, milky eye unfocused, “and if you don’t mind cleaning the windows.” 

“Yeah sure.” Dream says casually, George resists the urge to elbow him. _You are speaking to the head of the temple._

“Wonderful. Mary and I will handle the rest so no need to worry.” He turns, going back the way he came while Mary walks to a locked door on the side of the room. She fishes out a key and retrieves some basic cleaning supplies. “There’s clean water in these” She waves them over and points to the bottles in the back. “Try to use them sparingly” Then she’s gone, striding after Dan, presumably to finish the rest of their tasks. Dream looks at George, and upon making what George assumes to be eye contact, _it’s hard to tell with that mask._ Shrugs, before heading to the nearest window. With a less-than-enthused sigh, George makes his way over to the brewing stands at the back of the room. They’re lined up in an orderly fashion at least, along a stone slab that’s clearly made for them. He gets to work. 

It’s oddly methodical, there’s a pace he automatically falls into. So when he reaches the final brewing stand, and something makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like glass on metal, he snaps out of his trance rather abruptly. There’s a potion still attached to the brewery, someone probably just forgot to collect it. George removes it from the siphon and looks at it curiously. It glows a soft pink, the insides swirling gently...

 _“Put that down!” squawks an angry voice. George turns to see a slim woman striding towards him from across the room. Sunlight streaks in through the windows dying her dark hair brown and red. “How many times do I have to tell you George? Be careful with the potions. The stand could be brewing anything. These are exclusively for fully-realized clerics. Not apprentices like you.” Feeling shame rise at the admonishment, George carefully places the potion back. The woman calms down a bit. “I’m sorry for being so short with you Georgie, but not all potions are nice. I don’t want you to accidentally get hurt.” She gathers him into her arms and squeezes tightly for a brief moment. “I know you’re impatient, but don’t worry, in three weeks you’ll be ten, and then you can move past the boring readings,” she makes a face to go with the word ‘boring’, an attempt at making her eldest son laugh “and start learning some things hands-on."_ _She releases her hold and straightens back up, considering, “as long as you do it safely that is.” George nods in agreement, he’ll be safe, he wants to learn after all. His mother (is that who she is?) smiles at him. “Now let’s go find-”_

“George!” He is snapped violently back to reality when a heavy weight barrels into him, shoving him to the ground. There’s the sound of a vicious crash, crystals and metal against stone. Quickly George opens his eyes, gaze darting quickly to Dream hovering above him, and then up, to where Dream has somehow _caught the side of a chandelier with one hand._ It dangles ominously above his head, the only thing stopping it is Dream. He can feel broken crystal digging into the top of his head, where the damaged half of the chandelier rests, inches off of crushing his skull. What Dream has done, _and George is pretty sure that shouldn’t be possible_. Is caught part of the frame, holding it up and away from George, skewing the entire falling structure diagonally, _all with one arm._ With a grunt the blond readjusts his grip, and then _pushes,_ sending the chandelier careening back. George hears another crash as the rest of the crystals meet their demise on the cold floor. With that out of the way he can now see Mary peeking down from the balcony, her hands are over her mouth, and if the now empty space above them indicates anything, George would hazard a guess that she’s the one who accidentally let the chandelier loose. George blinks and she’s gone, fled from the side rail. Dream stands up, dragging George to his feet a little too forcefully for the brunet’s liking. “Are you okay?!” George blinks slowly,

“Dream, you are shaking me, please stop.” _Good answer George,_ his priorities may be a little misplaced, but his mind is still caught on the dark-haired woman he just saw. _Was that really his mother?_ Dream at least, has stopped shaking him. George appreciates it.

“What was that noise? Are you boys okay?” Dan appears from one of the side doors, Mary at his side.

“The chandelier fell,” George offers up lamely. Dan scans over the scene quickly, seeming satisfied by the lack of casualties.

“I see, well I’ll get some of the townspeople to handle it tomorrow. It takes about four people to lift that bad boy.” He chuckles, “for now, just try to steer clear of it.” _So how did Dream..._ George looks over at Mary, but she refuses to meet his eyes. Keeping her eyes trained stubbornly on the ground. “George,” the brunet startles, _did I ever say my name?_ Maybe Mary informed him, although George doesn’t quite remember if he told her either- “You seem to know your way around clerical instruments. I have another task for you, seeing as how the chandelier has so rudely interrupted your current one.” He motions for George to join him, and after a moment's pause, George stutters forward. _You’re trying to think about too many things, best just pick one._

The room he’s led to is rather large, cluttered with shelves of old books, and a wall that seems dedicated exclusively to potion arrangement. There are multiple tables crammed into the space, cluttered with open books and half-finished potions “I’d just like your help organizing these.” The elder says, reaching for one of the full bottles. “The younger apprentices still need a lesson in responsibility.” A quick glance tells George that the bottle shelves are labeled, the bottles themselves are not. Still, George is pretty sure this one is water breathing. He slots it into what he hopes is the right place and goes hunting for others. “So, you and your companion, where are you off to?” Dan sounds curious, there’s a desperate undertone to his words that George doesn’t like.

“I’m not sure yet,” the brunet pauses, “we’re just exploring I suppose.”

“Oh? Off on a good ‘ol adventure with a childhood friend is it?” The old man chuckles “I remember those days. I used to be quite the traveler myself.”

“Oh we’re not, we haven’t known each other that long.” George corrects, picking up a potion that he thinks is speed.

“You haven’t? Interesting, how did you come to travel together then.”

“Umm...We just came across each other one day, and decided that two people were better than one.” _That’s a lame excuse,_ but Dan seems to buy it. George has no wish to explain events that he doesn’t quite understand himself.

“A wise decision, the wilds are full of dangerous things. Still, you should be warier of strangers.” George mentally prepares himself for the _stranger danger_ lecture. Dan slides another bottle into place and instead starts with, “When I was about your age, a little younger maybe. I wanted to see the world. You know how it is, sitting in one small village for your whole life is enough to drive most people mad.” George nods slowly, even though Dan isn’t looking at him, it just seems polite. “Anyway, out I went on my own little adventure. As you’d expect though, I immediately found myself in trouble. Learned the hard way that drowned use the dark of the ocean to their advantage. I was saved by a very spunky girl. She dove right down to stab them, her skill far surpassed mine that’s for sure.” Dan smiles, lost in fond memories. There’s a softness to his words, love, carefully packaged. George isn’t prepared for what comes next. “One day, she tried to kill me in my sleep.” George looks over at the old cleric, their face is contorted in anger, storm grey eyes boring holes into the potion bottles. “It was luck that I survived. I had just gotten the nether wart and blaze rods necessary to strike off on my own, and they saved my life that night.” Dan still looks angry, George wonders if the cleric is even aware of how their words are filled with longing. _Maybe it would be better not to mention it,_ the tone is too kind for anger. “We had traveled together for almost a year, but that night, there was no hesitation.” Dan moved now, turning to face George. “Here,” weathered fingers trace a deep, angry scar. “I barely got my arm up in time, stopped it right before my heart.” Dan looks up, his gaze locking the brunet into place. “They call themselves hunters. They have all sorts of methods to stalk their prey. It’s almost impossible to lose them. They are not human,” _He loved her_. “Sometimes they will pretend to be, to reel in their prey, but in reality, they are nothing but cold, empty husks. Like a soul being eaten away from the inside.” George’s thoughts turn unwillingly to Dream.

“You saw him catch the chandelier.” Dan calmly slots another potion into place.

“Be careful George.”

* * *

It’s fully dark by the time George makes his way back to the main room. The candles have already been extinguished, so the moonlight is his only guide. Dan had left once the room was in order.

“I’ll be going now. There is a mountain of tasks to complete, and I must do what needs to be done.” He had been quick, disappearing into the twisting hallways.

“Are you going to hurt Dream?” George had called out to the darkness. Unsurprisingly, he had been given no response. Unwilling to risk getting lost, and hoping against his better judgment that Dan wouldn’t do anything rash, George had started the journey back.

“Do you know where we’re going now?” A familiar voice whispers from the darkness. George sighs, _annoying as ever_ , he feels himself smile.

“You’re so impatient. I’ll show you on the map tomorrow okay?” Dream hums in acknowledgment and flops over onto his sleeping bag. George wonders if he had been waiting for him. _You sleep with your sword, but would you be willing to kill him?_ George watches the moonlight scatter shadows onto the floor. It had been a long day, he needs to stop thinking. _They are not human, sometimes they will pretend to be._ Sleep is uneasy, but comes quickly nonetheless.

George is a light sleeper, Dream is an even lighter one. So when the brunet is shaken awake at what seems to be the wee hours of the morning it feels more like routine.

“There are people gathering outside.” The blond whispers urgently. George feels his blood run cold. In seconds he’s wide awake, grabbing at his belongings.

Dream seems frantic. “They’re armed George, at least twenty of them.”

“How can you tell???” George hisses back.

“ _Listen.”_ Both boys fall silent, turning towards the door, George can hear the faint clang of metal, and the hiss of torches. He thinks of Dan, thinks of the yearning in his voice. The anger in his eyes. Maybe he thinks he’s doing George a favor.

“They’re probably planning to storm in on us. We might still be able to make a break for it.” Dream nods,

“from the sound of it, I don’t think everyone’s gathered.” 

“Right through the front door then?”

“We can lose them if we’re fast enough.” _Easy for Dream to say,_ but George stands quietly anyway. Shouldering his bag he keeps a firm grasp on his sword. Turning to Dream he nods, and they both start creeping towards the exit. The chatter grows louder, carefully, George unbolts the doors and turns to Dream. He counts down slowly, mouthing the words to his companion. Together they fling the doors open, and George _runs._ There’s a painful **_crack_** as more than a few unsuspecting villagers get hit by what is effectively two large wooden planks. Pushing his way through confused bodies, George makes it to open-air and beelines for the river at the foot of the hill. He can see Dream in his peripheral, a blur of yellow as he outpaces George and unhooks a small boat from the pier. It’s a simple rowboat, but traveling with the current will be much faster than running. George feels his feet make contact with the wooden bottom, feels the boat rock worryingly.

“GO GO GO!” Dream pushes off and hops in, the roars of the villagers gaining on them. One nocks an arrow that narrowly misses. The rest start to pile clumsily into the remaining boats. They don’t make it far, the boat closest to them goes up in flames, burning on top of the water as villagers quickly abandon ship. George turns, Dream has his bow out; second arrow nocked, hands steady. In the end, he doesn’t need to shoot again. Fearful of fiery demise, the townspeople abandon the pursuit.

They float a bit in silence before George starts paddling.

“We got lucky,” Dream notes, sounding tired as the adrenaline wears off. He’s put away the bow, hands propping up his head.

“Probably.” They lapse back into silence. Dream leans back, eyes to the sky. George could kill him now if he was really afraid. He could kill a tired Dream, a Dream foolish enough to expose his bare neck. _And for what? Stars?_ George _should_ kill him, but moments turn to minutes. Eventually, Dream tilts his head back down and looks right at him, they stare at each other, George feels his grip go white-knuckled around the hilt of his sword.

“Do you know why they were after us?” George hates that damned mask. He lets his gaze drag down from Dream’s masked face to his feet, where the axe sits shining in the moonlight.

“They called you a hunter.” George raises his gaze back up to where Dream’s eyes should be. He imagines his eyes can bore holes through Dream’s mask. “I’m not supposed to trust you, because apparently, you’re not human. Just some monster pretending to be one. A psychopath that toys with their prey before killing them.” He lets the words burn, derives a bit of satisfaction from seeing Dream flinch. 

“I’m not a hunter.”

“You’re not completely human either.” Dream doesn’t respond. After a moment he moves his hand towards- George has his sword pointed at them before they can reach their axe. “Put your hand down.” Dream doesn’t move, doesn’t even speak. “ _Down,”_ he snarls. The air feels supercharged. Slowly Dream starts moving again, George waves his sword threateningly. _Are you willing to kill him?_ The hand keeps going. Slowly, slowly, the blond pushes the mask up, bringing it to rest halfway up his face.

“George,” he says, soft lips and straight nose set nicely into a slightly freckled face. _Well, that was unexpected,_ George drops the sword. “I promise, I won’t kill you.”

“And I'm supposed to believe this, why? Because you showed me half your face?” His voice isn’t nearly as strong as he wants it to be. It shakes, and he knows Dream picked up on it. He watches a slow smirk settle across the blond’s lips.

“Maybe,” George hates him. George hates him and his shitty smile and shitty freckles and shitty singing voice. George should not be caving to something as trite as half a face reveal. _Except it’s so much more than a face reveal._ George hates him.

“...Jump in the river.”

“What?”

“You promised remember? You stink. Stinky Dream.” It takes a couple of seconds for Dream to catch on, but when he does the smirk turns slow, languid. A lazy cat smile. That’s the only warning George gets before Dream is launching himself at the brunet. Both men go careening over the edge, but only the moon and stars are witness to their laughter.

* * *

The weather is nice, the duo has long since ditched their boat. No use for it on land, and not something they want to drag to the next water source. Dream hasn’t moved his mask back since that night, and George can’t help but think about the immense amount of trust that’s been placed on him. “You’re sure we’re going the right way?”

“That’s where it’s pointing.” George moves the compass around experimentally, no change. They’d learned pretty quickly that the compass was faulty, it was hard to ignore when it told them the sun was rising southwest and setting northeast. The curious thing was that when Dream held it, the needle pointed in an entirely different direction. The current working theory was that it was a magic compass of some sort, but they had no idea how. In the end, they had decided to just hail mary it, and follow where the needle pointed George.

“Why don’t we take a break?” Dream is sitting before George can even formulate a response.

“You’re tired?” Dream’s endurance is better than his, George wonders what kind of miracle water Dream drank as a kid to make his physical stats so damn high.

“Nah, I was thinking we could try to mark where we are on the map again.” The blond is lounging now. It’s a bit early for a pit stop, but the hill makes a good landmark. George pulls the map from his bag and unfurls it. He finds their last marked point and starts scanning for someplace in line with their current path that matches where they are now. The topography on this map isn’t in great detail, but it’s passable. He squints at it as if it’ll help him decipher the symbols. “By the way, if you don’t mind me asking.” Dream says from the ground where he’s hard at work dismembering a dandelion. “Why are you traveling? You don’t seem to have any particular destination in mind. Haven’t seemed to have one for a while.” George winces, _it was to be expected._ Dream was bound to get curious at one point or another, and George had run out of reasons not to tell him.

“I have amnesia,” he says bluntly. _No use beating around the bush._ “I’m trying to recover my memories.” There’s a long pause.

“Alright.” Dream goes back to the dandelion, George watches the yellow petals spiral down to the grass. He releases a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

“Why do you ask?” Dream stops picking at the dandelion, the silence stretches on.

“I wanted to know what to expect.” George frowns, _why_ _lie?_ The blond is hunched over the dandelion now, curling in on himself just a little, just enough. George decides not to push it. Dream discards the last yellow petal, and the wind snatches it away.

* * *

George doesn’t know much about nether portals. George doesn’t know much about the Nether either. They’d been traversing the jungle prior to accidentally stumbling across the ruined structure. At first, George had thought it was for a dark ritual of some sort. Witchcraft or something. 

“George it’s just a ruined nether portal, no need to get so jumpy.” Dream had said, voice dripping with his usual confidence.

“What is it even for?” George had asked, not entirely convinced. Dream had grimaced, at least he had the decency to look apologetic.

“Not sure, I’ve just seen them around. They’re not cursed or anything.” George had given him a glare that hopefully conveyed how little he believed that. Whatever this thing was, it did _not_ pass the vibe check. Something about it just reeked of danger. There had been a chest by its base, and Dream had looted it despite George’s protests. _He was nervous okay? It could’ve been booby-trapped._ But it hadn’t been packing anything particularly good, a few iron ingots which were never unwelcome, but nothing miracle worthy. George was backed up now, eyeing the structure warily. Dream watches him, lips quirked up in amusement. “It’s not gonna bite George, it’s inanimate.”

“Could be cursed.”

“I doubt it.” George shakes his head stubbornly, but Dream isn’t about to let it go.

“How about, on the count of three we both touch it, and if it zaps us with a terrible curse at least we can suffer together.” _That sounds like a terrible idea._

“Will you ever let it go if I don’t?”

“No,” Dream says innocently. _Predictable._ George heaves the most theatrical sigh he can manage and shuffles cautiously over to the frame. Dream is wearing a shit-eating grin.

“No chickening out,” he sings, and George flips him off. Dream wheezes, and starts counting down between tea kettle noises.

“One”

“Two”

“Three”

_There’s another boy here with them, he has dark hair and darker eyes. They’re looking in George’s direction, but they aren’t seeing him. Sapnap (is that who he is?) leans against the frame, a strange purple magic pulses from it, reminiscent of an endermen’s power. It makes George uneasy. It's either that or the blood. So much blood. Sapnap will die if George can’t find a brewing stand. Dream looks to be in better shape, but not by much. George doesn’t think he can stomach assessing his own wounds right now. His lungs are burning, and his mouth tastes like ash._

_“We need to move faster,” there’s blood soaking through the flame pattern on Sapnap’s shirt. The dark-haired boy presses a hand to his stomach to staunch the flow, face grim, eyes unseeing. “They’ve started to come after us in earnest.” George hears Dream make a noise of agreement. He wants to speak out, they won’t survive pushing their limits like this. The sensation of a netherite sword meeting his flesh flashes through his mind, George says nothing. Sapnap makes a move to walk, steadying his weight on a diamond sword. George rushes forward to help, and they lean into him gratefully. He’s more human now, George feels their gaze come to rest on the top of his head, seeing for the first time in days. Behind them Dream is silent, George knows he’s lost in thought. Sunset trickles through the branches..._

Dream sucks in a sharp breath beside him and George turns towards the sound. He’s half expecting to see Dream covered in blood, worn ragged, and tired. _So tired._ His mind is racing, trying to keep up with what he just saw. There’s no denying it now, what he’s been seeing. _Memories._ And Dream was in them. George doesn’t want to dwell too long on what that means. He thinks his brain might explode if he thinks about that right now.

“George?” Dream sounds nervous, George feels a migraine coming on.

“So…” He drags out the sound, buying time for his own floundering thoughts. “When were you planning on telling me that we knew each other.”

“This looks bad,” Dream concedes.

“I’ll say,” George can feel a different sort of bitterness rising within him. He has half a mind to punch Dream in the face. “So you knew me, you knew who I was, and you didn’t think to mention it once? To let me know literally anything about myself?” The blond grimaces,

“George I-”

“Is that why you were following me? Cause you knew who I was? You really were just toying with me.”

“George-”

“You’re an asshole you know? A whole nutsack. I spent, so much time trying to get any sort of clue about who I was. Meanwhile you just-”

“GEORGE,” Dream grabs the brunet’s face, trapping it between his hands and forcing George to look at him. “Listen...please…” The brunet grumbles, still glaring daggers into the taller male, but stays falls silent. “Thank you,” Dream drops his hands and backs up a few paces, looking lost. “I-” he pauses, grappling with the words. “I don’t have my memories either.” George doesn’t quite manage to stop the harsh laugh that tears from some deep, angry place in his gut.

“That’s convenient.” Dream looks agitated now. _Good,_ whispers a rotten corner of his mind.

“I _know_ , dear _god_ I know. That’s why I didn’t tell you before. How do you think that sounds?” The blond pitches his voice up into an angry falsetto. “Hi there George, I know you sorta told me something deeply personal that is probably your driving motivation and likely an exceptionally traumatizing experience. Did you know that I have it too?” Dream throws his hands up in frustration. “Do you see how bad that sounds? It’s fucking terrible.” He’s pacing now. “I’ve had it for maybe four months now? I don’t know George, the first memory I got _was when you tried to stab me._ ” George can feel the tension ratcheting up, _this conversation has turned into a minefield._

“...Was I good at stabbing you at least?” There’s a long pause, George can almost see the wheels in Dream’s brain turning. Approximately forty-three seconds later, _yes he counted,_ the blond breaks out into a grin, a drawn-out, almost painful wheeze escapes him, as if his lung was a balloon.

“No, you weren’t, you barely knew how to hold the knife properly. I think you were more of a healer than a fighter.” Dream smiles lopsidedly. George shrugs, resisting the urge to grin back.

“We’ve got a more pressing issue then. If you’re telling the truth, and neither of us has our memories, then whatever it was probably got to both of us.” The smile falls off of Dream’s face.

“Magic of some sort, it has to be. Do you think whatever it was got Sapnap too?” George shakes his head.

“I don’t know, we both got scattered and lost our memories. It’s likely the same thing happened to Sapnap. He could’ve gotten away though. We don’t know what it was that caused this, so he could be perfectly fine and looking for us.” Dream sighs,

“I hope so, I’d like him to be fine.” The blond taps his nails against his mask thoughtfully. “I wonder if whatever was hunting us did it.” _Maybe?_ George starts pushing his way back through the jungle.

“Maybe, we don’t have enough information. I think we can agree on the first order of business though.” Dream trails behind him looking excited.

“Time to find Sapnap?” 

“Time to find Sapnap.”

* * *

It’s way too easy, the three of them are just chatting gaily away, following an ender pearl as it floats softly towards its final destination. Techno can’t believe Schlatt hadn’t managed to finish off these idiots. They pass through a gap in the leaves and he catches sight of gleaming diamond armor. _Well, maybe that was a bit too much even for someone as angry as Schlatt._ He needs to be careful, he has a netherite sword and a bow that can puncture through even the toughest of armors, _enchanted, naturally._ But he’s a glass cannon, The Queen has no comprehension of protection, she gives no warmth or empathy. Her followers are made only to destroy and obey. _Everyone handles it differently, Schlatt is angry, Calvin is sadistic, Philza is numb, Techno is tired. Oh, so tired._

He passes through the forest and the foliage makes way, betraying him with the barest hint of a rustle. Techno doesn’t worry about it, the traitorous whispers will not reach the ears of his prey. They’re much too loud for that. He hunkers down in a position ahead of them; nocks an arrow, breathes once, twice. The three of them pick their way into his view, the tallest has to duck the low hanging branches. He feels a flicker of recognition, he’s seen them all before, but the memories seem far away, buried under a cold sheet of ice. He aims for the loudest first, the blond chattering away. Stupid, they all have their helmets off. The arrow flies true, skirting leaves and embedding itself in the target’s throat. Foolish words are cut off by a particularly nasty gurgle. Somehow, it appears they’re still clinging to life, but that arrow is poisoned, so Techno isn’t too worried. The brunet has immediately rushed to his companion's side, he still hasn’t put a helmet on, and he’s a depressingly easy target just sitting there on the ground. It’s an emotional decision, _always the final nail in the coffin._ Techno lets his gaze shift to the third, he’ll give the duo there a few more seconds of life. The last guy at least seems a little bit smarter, Techno isn’t sure if he should call it intelligence or common sense at this point. At least he has the good graces to put on a helmet, he’s even got his shield out. They’re looking in Techno’s direction but can’t seem to catch sight of him through the foliage. _I’ll give him a chance,_ Techno pushes himself to his feet. The movement is uncomfortably smooth. He’s about to step out of the foilage when he remembers. _Oh right, the other one._ Lazily, he knocks another arrow, the next shot he fires embeds itself into the base of the short brunet’s skull. _That might be a one-shot_ , at least the last guy seems to have located him now. He steps out of the underbrush just in time to parry a wildly swinging diamond sword. His opponent is thrown off balance immediately and Techno almost feels bad killing such a newbie.

“Technoblade?” _Oh?_ He really should’ve let Calvin take this one. Techno sighs _, he’s so tired._ His first swing is careless, but it doesn’t matter, The Queen has made sure they’re all perfect killing machines. Techno is pretty sure that he could bench press at _least_ five anvils. They won’t be able to block this swing. _Unsurprisingly, he hears the crunch of bone as his opponent makes the poor decision of trying to deflect with their shield._ Even with the wooden surface redistributing the force, Techno’s strength has long since surpassed normal human means. “Techno!!!” The man screeches again, _so loud,_ the crown weighs heavy on his head. Techno swings again, the sound is terrible, netherite scraping across diamond until Techno applies enough force to puncture through the hard material. The guy slashes at him futilely, brown eyes wide with terror, dark locks plastered to his forehead under the helmet. Techno gives him credit for not running away yet. _There is a thin line between courage and foolishness._ He steps back and the diamond blade whiffs, _it’s not worth dragging this out_. Changing his stance he plunges his sword through their chest. Initial resistance gives way to an easy slide, Techno avoids looking at the guys face, _they’ve got a hoodie on, it’s a nice light blue_. Pulling his blade free, he’s surprised to find the blond and brunet alive. They’ve managed to pull the arrows from their bodies, and the taller one is chugging a potion like his life depends on it. Which, realistically, it probably does. Maybe that’s why the other one hadn’t run, trying to buy time. It’s pitiful though, the brunet is hanging on by a thread, _although the wound is slowly closing_ and the blond looks like he has even less coordination than the last guy. If he’s being honest Techno thinks they really should be dead, but maybe their healing factor is better than he initially judged. _If he doesn’t think about it, he won’t hear them begging. He can pretend it doesn’t give him a rush._ They won’t move from each other’s side, so Techno will let them die together. He pivots, letting his momentum carry his sword in a wide arc.

“Blood for the blood god.”

* * *

He’s gotta be hallucinating. That’s the only excuse for the literal bat-manta-ray abominations with glowing green eyes dive-bombing him. He _had_ missed a few nights of sleep, but that was because he hadn’t felt tired. It was more important to find something familiar. The more ground he could cover, the better chance he had of completing that goal. However, it appeared that his hubris had caught up with him. It was a small comfort at least that they didn’t seem intangible. He had managed to shoot one from the sky, though the other two remained high. Circling like a strange type of shark. _Guess that makes me prey?_ He’d reverted to the age-old tactic of ‘shoot it full of arrows’ because he was too impatient to wait for them to dive down. ...Then he ran out of arrows. The arrow shortage, however, proved to be only a temporary problem. 

“This is a brilliant idea.” He tells the night air, before beginning to tower straight up. As if hearing his thoughts, the last manta-ray-neon-bat flies higher as he ascends towards it. Sapnap flips it off. _Asshole._ Guess he’ll have to wait for it to dive after all. _He never does get to._

The familiar sound of an arrow leaving a bow tears his attention away from the floating specter. It arches above him and sinks into the monster’s tough hide. A second arrow soon joins it, and he should really be figuring out where this volley is coming from before the archers decided to hit _him_ instead. _Small flex_ , he grins and leaps from the cobblestone pillar, softening his landing with water. His ankles protest, but that’s better than shattering his whole spine. He can see the archers clearly now, they are no longer colored specks on the ground. There’s only two of them, _easy enough,_ he draws his sword. _Now to shish kebab these randos._ He lopes over to them, hiding murderous intent with a friendly wave.

“Did you see that shot Sapnap?” One of them crows as he gets closer. Sapnap feels himself freeze.

_…HUH?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will try to post more frequently now that this monster chapter is out. Honestly no promises. It's gonna depend on chapter length as you can see. Ideally weekly. Anyway if you like please leave a kudos and drop a comment. It gives me a crumb of serotonin. (Next chapter will be more plot-centric so stick around for it)


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